


Oneiros

by makesometime



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: And everyone is happy and there are naked snuggles, Because this is a happy place where nothing bad happens, Canon Events Reimagined As Dreams, Established Relationship, F/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 20:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16709677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesometime/pseuds/makesometime
Summary: She sips from the rim of the jug, feeling Brasidas’ lips quirk against her forehead at the action. She has no care for propriety in the moment, simply the warming pass of alcohol through her veins, smoothing away the rough edges that her nightmare left behind.“I haven’t seen you this way for some time.”Kassandra hums, letting the oenochoe sit in her lap as she licks a stray drop from her lower lip. “I have not been forsaken by Hypnos and the Oneiroi for longer than I can remember.”





	Oneiros

**Author's Note:**

> This sat mostly completed for a few days in my Google docs. It's never quite been what I intended but I still find myself oddly fond of it in the end. Some quiet times with Kass and Brasidas await you.

Kassandra has become more than familiar with bad dreams in her lifetime. Her mind, traitorous in sleep, paints images of dead parents, dead friends, an eternity in Tartarus that she knows she does not deserve despite all of her questionable actions. 

They have become mere things to endure, another discipline to master. Which she has, with practice - it has been longer than she can recall since she awoke gasping, sweating and shaking, rather than breathing a little too deeply and cursing Phobetor’s hand in her troublesome dreams. 

Sometimes, however, the odd image will catch her out. Vivid in clarity, so strong and affecting that she feels it _must_ have happened. 

_Brasidas, a spear through his throat, Deimos smirking and beckoning her closer._

Kassandra gasps an anguished cry, jolting back to consciousness. She quickly becomes aware of a weight over her chest, manages to stop herself shoving at it before she has calmed. Taking three deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, she tries to regain her senses.

Glancing down, she finds her lover sprawled against her, his head pillowed on her chest. His beard tickles against her skin as he shifts, stirring at the force of her awakening. Kassandra holds perfectly still, waiting… and then he sighs, going still once more. 

In truth, it would have been better for Brasidas to wake up as well. She finds herself improving at sharing her uncertainties, at halving her burden by talking it through with the man she loves. It is so _unfamiliar_ an approach that it has taken an entire year to make turning to him more natural than internalising her worries. 

But he needs his rest. He has just come home from a trip to the north, through Lakonia and Arkadia to Argolis. A week long journey became more like three, with immediate training and a retaliatory attack draining him considerably. She wishes she had been there at his side. Brasidas’ safety on the battlefield is not guaranteed, even with her brother no longer a tool of the Cult.

He returned to her with new scars and tired eyes, a year to the day after she almost lost him. In hindsight, the subject of her dreams makes sense. 

_The spear, parting his flesh so eas--._

Kassandra screws her eyes shut, shaking her head. No. He was not taken from her then. It does not serve to dwell on such images. 

She turns her gaze back down, reaching out to stroke her fingers over the bandage on his bicep. A scratch, he assured her, which does not mesh with the red stain she knows to be peeking through its layers. A week will go past one of these days without either of them wrapping an injury… but she doubts it will be any time soon. 

“I will soon be able to hear your thoughts if your mind turns any louder.”

Kassandra smiles, moving her touch to smooth her fingers through his hair. “I thought you asleep.”

Brasidas yawns, warm breath gusting gently across her breasts. “It is difficult to rest upon a conscious body, I am learning. Especially one as striking as yours.”

The compliment is half-lost in another yawn, but it causes her to flush with satisfaction regardless. She scratches her nails delicately across his scalp, drawing a contented purr as Brasidas turns his face into her skin. 

“I had a… bad dream.” She murmurs, stumbling over the admission. It sounds childish to her ears. 

Without speaking, Brasidas pushes himself off her and shuffles so that he is leant against the wall. Kassandra rolls onto her side to watch as he holds out an arm in invitation. “Come. Tell me of it. It will help.”

Wetting her lips, Kassandra smiles, warmed and satisfied by having him returned to her once more. It shouldn't surprise her now, to see him show her such tenderness. But enough shit has happened in her life that she will never _expect_ it, even from those she loves. 

“I need some wine.” She admits with a scrunched nose, pushing the near-abandoned skins from her legs and climbing to her feet. 

Brasidas says nothing as she leaves the bedroom, tacit in allowing her this indulgence, this stalling tactic. 

For Kassandra, more so than her lover, it is still novel to find comfort in nudity in her own home. That she can now embrace the fact that they are safe enough, secure enough, to move through the space unencumbered is progress indeed. She fetches the oenochoe from the dinner table, abandoned when neither of them could remain awake long enough to maintain a conversation. 

It sloshes merrily as she hands it to Brasidas, climbing back onto the bed to settle at his side. It is his turn to hold her, to offer her a comfort of sorts, even if she would claim to have no need for it. 

She sips from the rim of the jug, feeling Brasidas’ lips quirk against her forehead at the action. She has no care for propriety in the moment, simply the warming pass of alcohol through her veins, smoothing away the rough edges that her nightmare left behind.

“I haven’t seen you this way for some time.”

Kassandra hums, letting the oenochoe sit in her lap as she licks a stray drop from her lower lip. “I have not been forsaken by Hypnos and the Oneiroi for longer than I can remember.”

“Then you are luckier than most.”

She takes another drink instead of replying. Fingers brush hers as Brasidas steals the jug, swallowing down a healthy swig of the wine. Even that simple contact makes her feel calmer, despite everything. He gives a contented sigh, holding her closer. 

“I saw you die.”

All told, she could have broached the subject more smoothly. Brasidas stills, turning the thought over in his head. He’s silent long enough that she considers what else she could say to make it less awkward, before his fingers spread wider on her stomach, centering her.

“What happened?”

“Alex-- Deimos.” She murmurs, still struggling with the correct term. “He killed you in front of me.”

Brasidas shifts, just barely, tilting his head to the side in an action that he likely doesn't even recognise. Kassandra knows without looking that the dull red of his scar will pull and flex with the movement. 

“I did nothing to stop it.” She says, chewing at her lip until it aches. Without thinking about it, she has identified the root cause of her lingering discomfort. Neither in reality nor dream did she manage to step in in time. It is only by the grace of the Fates that she did not need to.

“That is what worries you still?” He asks, taking the wine from her again. “It is an aimless concern, Kassandra.”

Without doubt he is right. It doesn't change that she cannot control her unconscious mind. That she still worries over him in battle, even now. 

“It need not be my brother who deals the blow. There are many other out there who would willingly do so.”

For the second time he grows silent. Concerned, Kassandra tilts her head up to glance at him. He wears a smile, sweet and pleased, as he lifts the oenochoe to his mouth. A drop of wine spills over into his beard as he swallows.

“You worry so much over me?”

Kassandra scoffs, hitting his stomach with the flat of her hand. It stings, leaving a sharp red bloom behind, but her lover does not even react. Unless smiling even more broadly counts.

“You act as if you don’t worry over me, which I know to be untrue.”

The hand on her side moves higher, curling around the back of her neck. It serves also to stop her from turning her head away, to avoid the affection in his gaze.

“It is natural to worry. It is not natural to be consumed by it.”

She grumbles, snatching the wine back and letting it drop from loose fingers to the floor beside the bed. She swings a leg over his and settles her weight on his lap, leaning in to kiss away the beads of wine on his beard. 

“You show such certainty in the face of unpredictable war.”

Brasidas lifts one shoulder in a lazy approximation of a shrug. One day maybe she'll achieve such easy confidence in life. Somehow she doubts it.

“It is true that there are few things to be certain about in this life. But I have no doubt that if I fell, you would follow me to the Underworld to petition Hades and his Queen for my soul.” He rests his forehead to hers. “And you are too stubborn to look back.”

His kiss is sharp, wine-soaked and welcome. It brings her out of her own dire thoughts enough to rest her arms on his shoulders, combing fingertips through his hair. She might never tire of this. 

Each kiss represents an admission. A reassurance. A grounding. 

Brasidas is her port in a storm. The least she can do is offer the same to him.


End file.
